


it's just my luck to be in love in vain

by emmalinerosette



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Extended Scene, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Missing Scene, Quote: You go too fast for me Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25053625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmalinerosette/pseuds/emmalinerosette
Summary: The Holy Water Situation from Aziraphale's point of view.Aziraphale gives Crowley the holy water and tries to get to the bottom of his feelings about it.Almost nothing happens, but in Aziraphale's world, that can be quite a lot. There are some missing scenes, reading between the lines, and private allowances of feeling.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	it's just my luck to be in love in vain

**Author's Note:**

> I was furloughed out of nowhere at the end of June (going back to work who??) so I thought, fuck it I'm writing GO fic for Camp Nanowrimo this year. What else are you supposed to do when it looks like the world is ending?
> 
> The lines in bold are quoted from episode 3, Hard Times.  
> The title comes from the song In Love In Vain. I particularly favor Nina Simone's version.

Aziraphale could just see the Bentley around the corner. Crowley had yet to move, had yet to put the car in gear, had yet to pull into traffic in his usual mad dash. Which left it to Aziraphale to turn and walk away so that he might at least put some distance between himself and the enormity of what he’d just done.

Capitulation. Holy water. _Admitting to wanting to go on a picnic together_.

The whole affair was mortifying from start to finish. _Situation, not affair!_ Even in his own mind Aziraphale could not piece together the words to say only what he meant to say and no more. He’d seen this sort of thing before, a hundred, a thousand times. Generations and generations of humans struck dumb with their love. It wouldn’t do.

Aziraphale paused for a breath he didn’t need to take as his bookshop came into view.

Perhaps thinking it through step-by-step would lay the problem out clear to him and alleviate the affliction he suffered.

It started with a night of drinking. Aziraphale couldn’t remember now exactly why they were drinking together in 1858, but they were quite sloshed by the time Crowley fell over after sitting upon and subsequently upsetting a stack of books.

“Be careful!” said Aziraphale. “Those are m’latest books of propher— er, proppes… predictions.”

Crowley was already on hands and knees, setting the pile to rights again, when he flashed a smile at Aziraphale over his shoulder. “Oh yeah? Anything good coming up?”

“Less all th’time actually, y’know.” Aziraphale giggled.

“Wha? I meant eventssss, angel. Any predicted events coming up?”

“I know what you meant.”

“Oh.”

“There’s plenty through the upcoming century, just… less after that.” Aziraphale shrugged.

Crowley sat back down hard, bottom to bare floor, looking stricken.

“These aren’t the one with the true prophecies,” Aziraphale hastened to assure. “A bit hit and miss this lot.”

“Right.”

Aziraphale pouted at Crowley and his suddenly somber tone. “ _Crowley_ ,” he whined.

“Did I already tell you about the prank I pulled at Vicky’s wedding?” Crowley asked, changing the subject.

Aziraphale should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it. He’d kicked off Crowley’s awareness of the approaching apocalypse and the serpent was not one to cough up an idea once he swallowed it. Perhaps the demon made small inquiries, checked in with some hellish contacts and found evidence of the timetable from his sources. Perhaps Crowley was getting paranoid. Either way, the threat had become real enough in his mind to ask for holy water.

Out of the question. Absolutely. Until it wasn’t.

Crowley rescued Aziraphale in the church. He rescued Aziraphale’s _books_ in the bombed out ruins of the church. And Aziraphale was so blinded by his upswell of overwhelming emotions Crowley’s actions evoked that he entirely missed the next progression. Crowley had identified a way to get holy water without Aziraphale. A little research and planning and he’d have it.

Yes, looking back, Aziraphale could see that this was the moment Crowley won the fight. No amount of hand waving, silent treatments, or thwarting would stop Crowley from getting his hands on holy water. So Aziraphale did the only thing he could do and forfeited the game.

The thermos of holy water now sat in Crowley’s car. Or in his flat, if the demon had managed to gather himself enough to take it home. Aziraphale had handed Crowley the means of his own utter destruction and in the same breath given him an equally destructive hope. Aziraphale wasn’t oblivious. He couldn’t even recall when he realized Crowley loved him. It had grown like a vine up the stone face of a house, one tendril at a time from the ground up until one day Aziraphale realized his heart was ivy-covered. Crowley’s love felt protective and enveloping. It was a small mercy that Crowley could not sense Aziraphale’s love, but it would be a lost advantage if Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from freely spilling it out into the open.

It went like this. Aziraphale intimated his wants and desires, and Crowley met them. Crowley outlined and argued for his plans, and Aziraphale came around to agreeing. They both got what they wanted in these ways. But in the Bentley, Aziraphale had read between Crowley’s lines for a change. 

**Should I say thank you?** _Let me say thank you._

 **Can I drop you anywhere?** _I can care for you where no one would see._

And then Aziraphale had told him no again and it was a subtle look and an unsubtle feeling, Crowley’s disappointment. It bled into the space between them like ink in water, ready to color everything in its murkiness. And suddenly Aziraphale couldn’t stand to disappoint him. Thousands of years of practice telling Crowley no and all of it undone in a moment.

 **Perhaps one day we could, I don’t know, go for a picnic. Dine at The Ritz.** _Soon. Eventually. I will let you in._

It was cruel and selfish and dangerous to flash that hope to Crowley. Like Crowley seeing the basin of holy water unguarded in a church, it would lead to forfeiture of a game neither of them could afford to play. He’d already given Crowley one means of self-destruction, must he give him two at once simply because Aziraphale ached to close the distance between them?

 **I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.** And it didn’t matter what Crowley meant when he said that because it was all the opening Aziraphale would get or need to correct himself.

 **You go too fast for me, Crowley.** They still had time. It wasn’t the end yet. They couldn’t jump to the end before it started. For Aziraphale could only imagine giving in, risking Crowley’s existence if it was already too late. And that was selfish too, but Aziraphale was a greedy angel, and he didn’t want one second less of Crowley than he could hoard.

Aziraphale sighed as he stirred the cup of hot cocoa he was making. Chocolate and ruminations were good partners. He’d risked Crowley’s well-being twofold tonight and he mustn't do it again. But as he sat in his chair and sipped his drink, Aziraphale quieted his fears and allowed his heart to suffuse with the warmth of Crowley’s offers. It was too late not to return Crowley’s love, that was clear. Now, he could only soften the impact of the inevitable fall.

Yes, a picnic, one day, would be quite lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love "you go too fast for me" fics, and I wanted to write one that focused more on Aziraphale's point of view and how he might view his own intentions. There was more navel gazing than I expected or usually write into stories, but that's what the angel wanted. I'm just another redhead who can't tell him no.
> 
> Vicky's wedding refers to the marriage of Victoria, Princess Royal, eldest of Queen Victoria, to German Emperor Fredrick III, making her the German Empress and Queen of Prussia. I think Crowley deployed a [surprise chair.](http://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-Kn-dT0SDAxo/TyM4JLP-zmI/AAAAAAABolQ/pDrtNDW5vqE/s800/j9.jpg)


End file.
